


expected patronuses

by lexicalbehemoth (lyricalleviathan)



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Alternate Universe - Professors, M/M, One Shot, POV Aziraphale (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-05
Updated: 2019-08-05
Packaged: 2020-08-09 18:35:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20122987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lyricalleviathan/pseuds/lexicalbehemoth
Summary: Crowley may or may not have a habit of taking Aziraphale along to his classes, even when they are both perfectly aware that their subjects are entirely unlike each other.Aziraphale, on the other hand, may or may not have a habit of teasing Crowley during those classes; but that's neither here nor there.





	expected patronuses

“Dearest…”

Crowley made that noise he often did, which amounted to something that sounded like a cross between a whine and a grunt, whenever he was trying to convince Aziraphale into doing something a little off from his usual duties. Even when they’d been students in Hogwarts from differing houses (himself in Hufflepuff, and Crowley in Slytherin) he’d been like this, and Aziraphale had never really found any immunity to it even when he reached adulthood.

It was almost as if he were predisposed to be soft for Crowley, though one could argue that he was just ridiculously in love.

Neither was wrong, in any case.

“For the kids, angel,” Crowley needled, smile wide as he urged him forward with both hands to his shoulders. “It’s just another lesson, and you’re assisting. That’s not straying from your duties as a professor, is it?”

“Yes, but-”

“But, what?”

“I hardly think this is appropriate,” Aziraphale murmured under his breath, giving an awkward smile to Crowley’s seeming overeager students. They were watching him and Crowley both with sparkling eyes, bright grins, not unlike the expressions his own students would wear whenever Crowley came to one of his classes or they found them chatting together in the dining hall. “Couldn’t you just show them your own? I don’t see how I could contribute in any way that you can’t already as their professor.”

“You’d be contributing much more than old Shadwell could, and I think that’s enough,” Crowley retorted, earning the scattered laughter of the students. “Come on, angel, for me? Just one Patronus, and I’ll buy you those chocolates you like so much.”

“Oh, you wily old serpent,” Aziraphale huffed, waving Crowley’s hands off his shoulders right before he straightened himself out, posture and coat and all. “_Fine_, but just one.”

He sighed when his response was met with an unabashed chorus of cheers, included in which was Crowley himself. It was no wonder, really, that his students loved him so much- he could be a terror at times when one disappointed him (and this really only ever happened when a student happened to be unusually cruel to another), but he was never the kind to shame a child for having questions. He was rather youthful at heart too, for all that he occasionally boasted wisdom afforded by his age and experience, and he was far, far softer than he liked to admit he was; a perfect combination, surprisingly enough, to attract children and adolescents alike.

Adults, on the other hand, found him a little discomfiting- but Aziraphale supposed that was just what happened when one was faced with a fellow adult who felt more comfortable in his skin than most others.

“Ready?” he asked.

(Crowley looked at him with a shake of his head, as he often did whenever Aziraphale said such things. It wasn’t his fault that he’s used to routine, was it? He’d gotten accustomed to handling the first years in his first decade of teaching that it’s been taking him some time to adjust to being transferred to teach the older children, though he _is_ trying his best. He is!)

“Yes!” the students cheered anyway, more than happy to oblige him. Aziraphale noted to himself that they hadn’t been this sweet the first few months he’d taught them himself, though he couldn’t be sure if it was because they were all still adjusting to each other then, or if Crowley’s influence in being so boldly _himself_ in all his soft fondness and fierce determination had changed them, little by little. Even the more ill-tempered kids when he’d begun teaching them were a lot less sullen now, softened as they were with the intrigue and excitement in their eyes.

It was also entirely possible that Crowley’s love for him was so blatant to be infectious, which he would be rather unsurprised by if such were the case.

(Call him arrogant if you’d like, but he _knows_ love when he feels it, even if he did tend to play coy around it at times.)

He paused for a moment, thinking (_Crowley covered in soot and dust, all long legs and nonchalance as he returned Aziraphale’s stolen books to him_), then casted, “_Expecto patronum!_”

There was a burst of light, a slow-growing glow, then-

“Oh?”

“Oh!”

“Is that-”

“No bloody way-”

“It is!”

Aziraphale chuckled at the small bit of chaos his Patronus had produced, not at all oblivious as to _why_. It’s been a common source of awe and surprise since the first time he’d discovered it for himself, along with the occasional expressions of dismay by a few prejudiced, haughty parties. He said, playing at ignorance, “Well, was that satisfactory?”

“Sir!” yelped an eager boy with ginger hair, one hand raised, “May we ask what memory you were thinking of in casting it?”

Aziraphale hummed, turning away from his fading Patronus. He asked, “What made you ask that?”

“Well,” the student beside the ginger-haired boy begun, “it’s rather curious, sir! We hadn’t expected your Patronus to be a serpent.”

Aziraphale smiled at the student’s honesty. Crowley, seeming to have understood what he was doing, asked with a raised brow, “What, pray tell, were you expecting?”

“An owl?”

“Something soft!”

“A badger!”

Crowley cackled at the cacophony of answers his one question got him. Aziraphale was a slight more subdued in his own giggling, because _someone_ had to act a little professional since this was still a class. A class that got somewhat out of hand, he supposed, given that Crowley was supposed to be teaching Herbology- yet here they both were, giving a demonstration of how one would cast a Patronus, which was something that ought to be under Professor Shadwell’s purview instead of their own.

He’s an ornery fellow, though, so Aziraphale could understand the desire to find lessons elsewhere.

“If you must know,” he began calmly, holding back a smile when he saw them staring at him with barely-hidden intrigue, “it was a memory of myself and Crowley when we were still students, and he saved my books from a perilous fate.”

“Alright!” Crowley snapped abruptly, clapping his hands together once and eliciting a chorus of groans from his students. If one looked closely- just close enough that one could see even the pores on his face- one might see a hint of a blush, which was _exactly_ why Aziraphale had decided to answer a question he could have easily avoided for the purpose of privacy. Crowley continued, “That’s quite enough for today, you got to see a Patronus and class is almost over. Your assignment for next week is a list of poisonous flowers one can also use as an antidote.”

“Sir!”

“Tell the story!”

“Professor!”

“We want to know, please!”

“Angel,” Crowley hissed, a hint of his nature as a Metamorphmagus slipping through as his sunglasses slid down to show off golden, serpentine eyes. “You were in a rush to leave, yeah? How about we move this along-“

“Oh, but dearest,” Aziraphale interrupted, smiling widely enough that there would be no mistaking his mischief. “I wouldn’t mind telling the students about it. It’s such a nice story; it’d be a shame not to share.”

“_Aziraphale._”

“Darling.”

He stifled a laugh of his own when Crowley turned his back to the class to cover his face, almost as if he were struggling not to scream.

“Now,” he said, smiling all too brightly as Crowley continued whining (_Crowley would like to deny that he whined at all, but Aziraphale and the students knew better_) behind him, “the story went like this…”

**Author's Note:**

> finished !! this was entirely the result of three writing races, so ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ at the quality LOL
> 
> i hope you enjoyed it at least a little bit! i'm thankful you managed to read this far ♥ if ever you have any suggestions or things that you like about the fic, I'd very much welcome and appreciate any comments!
> 
> feel free to peruse [my twitter](https://twitter.com/lexicalbehemoth) as well, if you'd like ♥
> 
> prompt from the Ace Omens discord: “At the moment, it seemed like a good plan, obviously it was not."


End file.
